


catch me as i fall

by dozmuffinxc



Series: catch me as i fall [6]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, all the feels, hurley/sloane, seriously i can't with these ladies, sweet lady love, tears for days, the ram and the raven
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-25 09:14:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16194542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dozmuffinxc/pseuds/dozmuffinxc
Summary: As she propels herself into the tangle of inky black vines, Hurley whispers a prayer and a promise under her breath.





	catch me as i fall

Hurley has never seen anything as powerful as the blast of flame that shoots from Taako’s umbrastaff. It’s blinding, and as she squints against the glare, she searches the cloud of ash, desperate to see Sloane’s face smiling back at her. Nothing could withstand that blast, not even the damned sash.

It should be over. 

But it isn’t. The entity that wears Sloane’s face laughs and the sound is deafening. Hurley’s knees go weak because _nothing has changed_ , Sloane is still grey-skinned and blank-eyed, and the Gaia Sash is still speaking through her. Hurley almost misses the movement of the first tendrils of black vines snaking from Sloane’s hands through the tears that cloud her vision.

“Get back!” she shouts, and with a desperate yank, she pulls Magnus away from the writhing mass of silverpoint vines that have consumed the woman she loves.

 _“I need to know that there’s something stronger than this sash,”_ Sloane had told her. She had been desperate that day, pale and thin, her voice thick with panic, and Hurley had wanted with all her heart to help. But when she tried to wrap her thief in a familiar embrace, the Raven had shrunk from her touch and fled, leaving Hurley with a handful of dead leaves and withered flower petals that fell in rotting bunches from her trembling fingers.

Resolution settles with surprising speed through Hurley’s body. Her hands tingle with the expectation of power, and she doesn’t have to search hard to find a smile to offer the three men who have become her unexpected accomplices.

The plan unfolds fully-formed in her mind, and Hurley realizes she’s known it would come to this all along. Violence will only beget violence: her training taught her that, and there’s only one thing left to try. Hurley draws the boys aside, as far away from the writhing mass of vines as possible; they nod expectantly, confident that she finally has a solution, and as she uses her hug to latch her own safety harness onto Taako, she feels her heart swell with gratitude for this strange, brave trio.

As Merle, Magnus, and Taako fly backwards encased in the bubbles of their safety harnesses, Hurley rolls her shoulders and tilts her head from side to side. The familiar crack of popping joints settles her, a ritual from their racing days, and the flood of adrenaline that always accompanied those competitions makes her feel ten feet tall. She can almost hear Sloane’s wild cackle in her ear, and she thinks that, if she turned just so, she would see the intoxicating glint of dark eyes through a raven mask.

White light flares from between her fingers as she claps her hands together with thunderous finality. Perhaps she should be afraid, but there’s no fear in her heart, and Hurley’s face breaks into a grin that would unsettle the most hardened of criminals. As she propels herself into the tangle of inky black vines, she whispers a prayer and a promise under her breath.

_“I’m coming.”_

The pearly thorns pierce her skin, flaying her alive with their poison, but she pushes further into the mess of vines as the white light grows stronger, pouring out of her along with the blood from her fresh wounds. At last, her scrabbling hands grab hold of Sloane’s arms and she sighs with relief even as the silverpoint’s curse fills her with unspeakable pain.

Sloane’s body writhes in her grasp, but Hurley clutches her close, and as pain drives the last tendrils of consciousness from her mind, she looks up into the Raven’s eyes and watches them fill with warm color and awareness at last.

****************************************************************

There is no doubt in Sloane’s mind that it is Hurley’s hands reaching out to her in the darkness. Where moments before there had been only silence and the crushing weight of failure and isolation, there are now pinpoints of light, tiny prickles of consciousness, and the familiar sound of Hurley’s voice calling her name into the bottomless oubliette where the Gaia Sash had left her for dead.

Sloane gasps as her lungs expand with fresh air, the sharp tang of blood in her mouth and a weight, heavy and limp, in her arms. For once, the sash is silent, and she can hear herself think for the first time in months without the creeping whispers pushing her farther into madness. 

The weight stirs in her arms, muffled words spoken into the fabric of her vest drawing her attention down to the broken form of Hurley curled against her chest. Sloan’s eyes widen with dawning comprehension and she staggers, legs splashing into the water that has materialized inexplicably at her feet as she cradles the tiny monk’s fragile body in the protection of her embrace. In the distance, the wail of sirens grows louder, and Sloane vaguely registers the presence of three men watching them from a few yards away.

Hurley coughs, a weak, pathetic sound that’s both hollow and dry, but she smiles, and the tilt of her lips sends a wave of heat exploding against the Raven’s ribcage.

“You’re in _trouble_ ,” Hurley wheezes, and her pained chuckle breaks something deep inside of Sloane. She hasn’t felt this much emotion – she hasn’t _felt_ this much at all since she first put on the Sash, and when laughter bubbles up from her belly, it startles her.

Hurley’s hand flutters up towards Sloane’s face. Her fingers, small and slender, hover in the air around Sloane’s collarbone where the sickly threads of black infection catch Sloane’s eye. They’re spreading rapidly, moving just beneath Hurley’s skin, and with each passing moment, the halfling seems to be growing alternately paler and darker. The memory of silverpoint vines spilling from her own hands mere minutes before makes Sloane’s mouth go dry, and she squints up at the dazzling sun as unaccustomed tears blur the cheerful, blue sky.

“This whole time I was looking for something more powerful than this _fucking_ belt,” she says, her voice close to breaking. “I’m such a fool.”

When she looks down at Hurley, the monk’s bright eyes are gazing back at her, and to Sloane’s amazement, there is not a mote of judgment or blame to be found in their golden depths.

One of the men speaks, his voice high with anxiety.

“Don’t you have any magic,” he pleas, beseeching one of his fellows who returns his look with one of surprise and, ultimately, resignation.

“This is the venom of silverpoint,” Sloane says, but she isn’t looking at the men: she has eyes only for Hurley who nods, her chin bobbing slowly as a fresh line of black poison stretches across her cheek and blots out the freckles on her nose.

As the three men curse and argue, insisting there must be a cure, Sloane notices the Gaia Sash pulsing around her waist for the first time since she was freed from its thrall. Her back stiffens and she clutches Hurley closer, but when she probes the edges of the magic radiating from the belt with her mind, there is no malice there, no threat. Is it possible…?

Yes, she realizes. With Hurley in her arms again at last and the strength of the healing spell coursing through her veins, anything is possible. 

She leans down so that her lips are as close to Hurley’s ear as possible, and she whispers, “I can do this one thing for you. For us. Will you come with me, my brave Ram? Will you let me steal you, just this once?”

When she draws back, Hurley’s eyes are glistening with tears and her smile is brighter than the sun where it reflects off the water at their feet.

“Yeah,” Hurley breathes, “I think that’d be all right.”

Sloane curls her fingers gently into Hurley’s hair where it collects at the nape of her neck and presses a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead. Her skin is cooling fast, and Sloane knows she doesn’t have much time.

“I want to thank you for everything you’ve done,” Sloane says to the men, whorls of power already spiraling through the air in dizzying concert, “but I have one last request for you. Are there other objects in this world that are as powerful as this belt?”

The men nod, and Sloane squeezes her eyes shut for a moment.

“Don’t let this happen again,” she says, and as Hurley’s heartbeat stutters, Sloane releases the magic of the belt one last time.


End file.
